


Fathoms Below

by imaginary_golux



Series: Merfolk [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Force-Sensitive Finn, Merpeople, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: After the handfasting, there's one more thing Poe and Finn have to do: deliver the magical Sword of the Crown to Queen Leia. Unfortunately, they're not the only people who know it's been found...Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	1. Chapter 1

“The Sword must go to the queen,” Kes says solemnly, putting down his wine glass. It is five days since Poe and Finn were handfasted, and the two of them are having dinner with Poe’s parents, just the four of them. Poe had wondered at the privacy - even the usual footman to serve their dinner has been dismissed.

“Of course, and as soon as possible,” he agrees with his father. “Especially since it hasn’t claimed anyone here.” The Sword is the final arbiter of the worthiness of the heir to the throne; years ago, when then-princess Leia laid her hand upon its hilt, it is said to have shone like the sun at noon, half-blinding everyone but her. It has shown no such favor to anyone in the Dameron castle, including Poe and Finn, somewhat to Poe’s relief. He devoutly does not want to be a king.

“Unfortunately,” Shara says, “there are some complications.”

Finn looks confused, and Poe can’t blame him. “Complications?” Finn asks, a little plaintively, and Shara smiles at him, warm and sweet.

“The Sword was stolen twenty years ago,” she tells him, “and how it got to the Sea Witch who gave you legs, I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Neither do I,” Finn admits. “Maz has...a lot of things. People bring them to her. I worked for her for a year, sorting her treasure halls, and I don’t know the _half_ of what she has. I’ve no idea how it got to her - but if it was dropped into the sea, someone might have found it and brought it to her to pay for something. That’s my best guess.”

Kes shrugs. “Ours as well, then,” he says easily. “But the fact remains: it was stolen, and the thieves were never caught. For all we know, they have heard about its reappearance and wish to steal it again, destabilizing the succession for good - and there are those at court who would take advantage of that. So we must send the Sword to court as safely as we possibly can.”

“Alright,” Poe says, nodding, “that makes sense. What do you want _us_ to do?”

Kes smiles at his son. “As far as anyone else is concerned, we want you to take a honeymoon,” he says. Poe grins at Finn, who looks slightly confused at the human idiom but smiles agreeably.

“And what we’ll _really_ be doing?” Poe asks his father.

“Taking the Sword to the queen, in the duchy’s fastest ship,” Kes says soberly. “We’ll send a party overland, as many soldiers as we can scrape together, a big locked chest covered in iron straps, that sort of thing, in the hopes that anyone wanting to steal the Sword will concentrate on them. You’ll ostensibly be going in a completely different direction, and if you two can bill and coo at each other believably enough, no one will suspect you’re anything but a pair of honeymooning lovebirds that we’ve kicked out of the castle for the sake of our sanity.”

Poe laughs. “Harsh but fair,” he agrees. His hand is tangled with Finn’s beneath the table edge, after all; they haven’t voluntarily been more than a few feet from each other since the handfasting, and Poe’s reasonably sure they’ve given his poor longsuffering valet a toothache. “And yeah, no one will suspect us of having any plans other than debauching each other.” He clasps his fingers a little more tightly around Finn’s. “If you’re alright with this?”

“Sure,” Finn says, and then slants a mischievous smile at Poe. “You’ll have to show me how boats are _supposed_ to work, when they’re not sinking right on top of my head.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I,” Poe sighs, smiling helplessly at his beloved. “Oh well - it was worth it. It got me _you_.”

Finn leans over and kisses Poe gently, and Shara makes a soft cooing noise. Kes chuckles.

“Yes, just...keep that up, then,” he says wearily. “But maybe not in front of us, hey son?”

Poe grins sheepishly at his father. “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Shara says, grinning at Poe and leaning over to kiss Kes on the cheek. “You should have seen _us_ the week after we were handfasted - I don’t think we actually left your father’s rooms for five days.”

“Oh gods,” says Poe, cheeks flaming. “ _Please_ don’t keep going.”

“You’re sure?” Shara teases. “I have _lots_ of good stories from back then. Your father was _quite_ the handsome young man.”

Poe puts his hands over his ears and starts humming loudly, and the other three burst into laughter. Finn brushes another kiss over Poe’s cheek and says, loudly enough that Poe can hear him over his humming, “Not half so handsome as you, I’d bet.”

Poe thinks he might actually spontaneously combust, his cheeks are so red.

*

They set out two days later, on the _Shara’s Pride_ , fastest ship in the duchy’s small fleet. Poe and Finn do their part, canoodling on the dock while the sailors load their luggage - including a chest ostensibly full of Poe’s clothing and _actually_ full of Poe’s clothing wrapped around the Sword of the Crown - and then hugging Kes and Shara farewell and retreating immediately into their cabin amid the laughter and cheers of the townsfolk.

And, well, verisimilitude, right? Poe pulls Finn down onto the bed with him - a real bed, as befits the heir to the duchy and his consort - and kisses him hard. “We’ve got three days at sea,” he tells Finn, smiling down at him. “What do you think we should do with them?”

Finn taps his lips like he’s thinking, then grins up at Poe. “Well, I _do_ want to see how sailing works,” he says slowly, and Poe kisses that smile. Finn laughs. “But I guess that can wait until tomorrow,” he says. “Kiss me again.”

Poe does, of course. But Finn didn’t specify _where_ Poe should kiss him, so Poe kisses the line of his jaw, the bump of his Adam’s apple, the beating pulse in his throat where the gill-lines still show, two shades paler than Finn’s lovely dark skin. Finn laughs again.

“Tease,” he says softly, and pulls Poe up, both hands tangled in Poe’s hair, to kiss him hard. For someone who’d never kissed before he met Poe, he’s learned _very_ fast - he turns Poe into a gasping, desperate creature, sprawled out over Finn because his arms won’t hold him, in very little time at all. Finn breaks the kiss looking smug. “ _There_ we go,” he says, and Poe puts his head down against Finn’s shoulder and pants a laugh.

“Dear gods,” he says, “what you _do_ to me.”

“Yeah?” Finn asks, sounding pleased. “What do I do to you?”

Poe hisses in a sharp breath, kisses the shoulder beneath his lips. “You drive me half-crazy,” he says hoarsely. “I want to do filthy things to you, _all the godsdamned time_.”

Finn takes a moment to look around the cabin. “Well,” he says slowly, “we would appear to be in private, and we _are_ supposed to be debauching each other for a good cause. Nothing’s stopping you.”

Poe raises his head and grins. “You don’t mind?” he asks, teasing.

“I guess I could put up with it. For a good cause, mind,” Finn says, reaching down to grope Poe’s ass with one strong hand. Poe squawks and then dissolves in laughter, muffles his chuckles against Finn’s lips.

“Oh, well, for a good cause,” he says, and rolls away to wriggle out of his clothing, rolls back to find that Finn has done the same and there are positively _acres_ of warm delightful skin to rub against. Finn cards a hand through his hair and kisses him long and slow, and Poe reaches across him to fumble in the bedside table (bolted down, of course, it _is_ a ship) for the lube, because they have the rare combination of privacy and time and as long as he _has_ the opportunity to ride his handfasted beloved into the mattress, he’s going to take it.

Finn has no complaints about this, and several long but very pleasant minutes later - and Finn has _very_ clever fingers now that he doesn’t have to worry about hurting Poe with his claws, clever blunt fingers that can find that perfect spot inside of Poe unerringly - Poe is straddling his beloved, sinking down onto his lovely cock as slowly as he can bear to. Finn’s hands are steady on his hips, and Poe stares down into his beloved’s beautiful dark eyes and braces his hands on Finn’s broad chest so that Finn’s low moans reverberate up his arms and just...takes it all in.

It is, he must admit, a _really_ good way to spend an afternoon.

*

They eat with the captain that evening, doing their best to ignore the looks of indulgent amusement that the entire crew gives them when they come out of their cabin, and Poe gives Finn a quick lesson on how a sailing ship works before it gets too dark to see. Finn is getting stronger at an almost alarming pace - is pushing himself maybe too hard, Poe thinks, but it’s Finn’s body and Poe won’t step in unless it looks like Finn is going to truly hurt himself - and he walks a full circuit of the ship’s deck beside Poe, admiring the billowing sails and steadying himself with a hand on the railing now and then. Poe watches his beloved’s face, open and wondering in the light of the setting sun, and thinks he is the luckiest man in the world.

They sleep in each other’s arms, as they have each night since the handfasting, curled up in the center of the bed with the blanket kicked down around their feet because Finn runs warm (and won’t wear pajamas, though Poe wears sleep pants just in case) and Poe won’t roll away for _anything_ , and Poe doesn’t think he dreams, because he has his dreams here in his arms.

They wake up to the sound of clashing swords and screams.

*

Poe rolls out of bed and fumbles for his sword on instinct - and he’s a decent swordsman, actually, a duke’s son has to be - and Finn grabs the set of throwing knives that were Kes’s handfasting gift to him when they learned (after several frustrating hours in the armory) that Finn hits what he aims at, every fucking time, and they stumble together towards the door to the cabin, which slams open before they can reach it. Half a dozen men in motley, ragged clothing with bloody swords come swarming in. Poe kills the first one, and Finn’s knives fly home in the throats of two others, but there are more behind the first batch, and Poe goes down to a nasty knock on the head that has him seeing _triple_ , swaying and keeping himself conscious by the thinnest thread of will. He sees Finn stumble and fall when one of the attackers rams him with a shoulder, cries out or tries to as two more of the - pirates? They must be pirates - leap forward to tackle Finn and pin him to the deck.

The pirates truss Poe and Finn like roasts for the oven and drag them out onto the main deck; Poe tries hard to see if any of his crewmen have survived, but between the knock on the head and the crowds of pirates everywhere, he can’t tell. He and Finn are dumped unceremoniously in front of a tall man wearing all black, who sneers down at them and then snaps, “Search the ship. Bring it to me!”

Poe loses some time, then, the world going hazy around him, as the pirates bustle about, ransacking every box and barrel on the ship. Finn, beside him, watches him with worried eyes and keeps up a near-inaudible chant of, “Poe, Poe, stay with me,” that Poe clings to like he’s drowning and Finn’s voice is a thrown rope. And then two pirates come scurrying out of the ducal cabin with the Sword of the Crown clutched between them, both seemingly unwilling to relinquish their prize, and offer it proudly to the man in black.

“At _last_ ,” says the man in black, gloatingly, and takes the sword. To Poe’s immense relief, nothing happens - the sword does not light for him. Thank the _gods_ that this man is not the true heir to the kingdom.

“What should we do with these, then, Cap’n?” one of the pirates asks, nudging Poe with a foot. The man in black sneers down at Poe and Finn.

“Toss them overboard,” he says, shrugging. “They’re no use to me.”

“Aye aye,” says the pirate, and Poe struggles against the ropes binding him desperately as he and Finn are lifted in hard, cruel hands, swung once and twice and a third time and flung -

And the water closes over him, cold and dark and merciless, and Poe despairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Finn is furious and terrified - more for Poe than for himself, honestly, because he has never before _needed_ to fear the sea - and then they hit the water and it’s _cold_ and his human lungs seize up and oh - oh, _this_ is why humans fear the ocean, why they build ships to conquer it - and he is sinking, Poe beside him with an expression of sorrow and despair on his lovely face, and Finn thinks, _No. We will not die here. I will not allow it._

His bones remember how to be a tail. His skin remembers how to be scales. If the price of Poe’s life is going back to the form he paid a year’s labor to shuck off, Finn will pay it without flinching. He thinks back, fighting through fear and the memory of pain, to the moment Maz began to change him, holds that moment in his mind, and reaches out - he cannot describe it in any other way, though even that is wrong - and _twists_.

It hurts, of course. It hurts so _much_ , it is agony, every bone and muscle screaming, every inch of skin feeling like it’s being flayed from him. But when the pain is over, scant seconds later, he flips his tail and turns his hands to slice his claws through the ropes binding him, shoots through the water to Poe’s still form, and lifts his beloved in his arms and _sprints_ up through the blue to the surface. They’re far from the ship by now, thank goodness, and he cradles Poe in his arms, keeping his lover’s head above water, shreds the ropes binding Poe’s arms and legs, and sets a course for _away_. He’s not sure where they’re going, but Poe needs dry land.

Poe is coughing in his arms, spitting seawater, but coughing is better than _not breathing_ , so Finn doesn’t worry too much. And after a few minutes, Poe recovers enough to loop his arms around Finn’s neck, careful of the gill slits, and hang on. Finn smiles down at him.

“I seem to be making a habit of this,” he says, and Poe grimaces.

“I would really prefer it stopped being _necessary_ ,” he says. “Not that I mind being carried around in your arms, but…”

“But almost drowning is just not a good way to spend a morning,” Finn agrees. Poe nods.

Swimming with Poe in his arms, staying half above the surface, is much slower than Finn _could_ go, if he were alone and deep beneath the waves. His skin starts to dry out, too, and twice he has to leave Poe floating carefully on the surface and dive down to soothe his burning shoulders and also catch a handful of small fish to keep his strength up - swimming burns energy quickly. He doesn’t leave Poe for very long, though. A lone human in the middle of the ocean is not safe, not safe at all.

At last, though, late in the day, he sees the shoreline ahead of him, and looks down to give Poe the good news only to find that at some point Poe has fallen asleep, head lolling on Finn’s shoulder. It’s sort of adorable. Finn’s a little worried, though, by the red tinge to Poe’s face, the clammy feeling of his skin. Humans aren’t meant to be in the sun that long, and they _certainly_ aren’t meant to be in the ocean that long. _Finn_ is fine, warmed by a layer of subcutaneous fat and his exertion, but Poe lacks either, and also was much more badly affected by their near-drowning. _Last_ time this happened, he was much closer to shore, and it took Finn a lot less time to get him to safety.

But there’s nothing Finn can do that he isn’t already doing, so he hugs Poe to him a little more tightly and heads for the shore as fast as he can, and tries not to worry too much. Poe will be fine. Finn will make sure of it.

The shore, when he reaches it at last, is a rather unwelcoming mix of rocks and sand, and Finn picks the sandiest bit he can find and wriggles inelegantly in to put Poe on the shore, then sags down next to him, exhausted. But there’s one more thing he needs to do - something he needs to find out. He got his tail back by reaching for it so desperately that he managed to reverse whatever magic Maz did, but his tail was his for twenty years and more before he met Poe. Can he get his _legs_ back the same way? He’s only had them a little while - less than two weeks, all told - and he doesn’t quite feel like they’re even _his_ , some days, they’re so confusing and painful. But he needs to be with Poe, and Poe is on land, so Finn needs to have legs.

He concentrates. It’s much harder now than it was with fear giving his thoughts a sharp, bright edge, giving his will that little extra force. He’s exhausted and worried and hungry and probably sunburnt, and all the little discomforts keep distracting him. But he can do anything for Poe, and so Finn shuts his eyes and anchors his claws in the sand so the waves won’t wash him away and thinks back, stubbornly, to that moment of blinding pain, to the way it feels to stand on two legs, to the joy of bread and the pleasure of being able to touch Poe without worrying about hurting him, to being _human_.

It hurts worse than getting his tail back did, _far_ worse. It feels like he’s being burned alive. But Finn remembers that it hurt even worse when Maz did this the first time, and hangs on through the waves of pain, and at last, after how long he doesn’t know, he feels the water cold on the bottoms of his bare feet, the sand rough and unpleasant against the tender skin of his knees. Ow.

It _worked_.

Finn hauls himself out of the water next to Poe, ignoring the pain in his legs, and checks Poe over as well as he can. Poe is either sleeping or unconscious - Finn would bet on unconscious, actually - but he’s breathing well. Finn hauls him carefully up above the tide line, panting with the effort of it, and then sags down next to him and pillows his head on Poe’s chest so that he can hear the comforting beat of Poe’s heart.

Finn does not mean to fall asleep, but he is bone-deep tired, from two transformations and swimming all day and carrying Poe - though Poe is not a large man, and the water does provide buoyancy, still after a few hours the weight becomes evident - and he dozes off in the warm light of the setting sun, arms wrapped tightly around Poe’s waist so nothing can separate them.

He wakes up because it’s _cold_. Finn is naked - he wasn’t wearing anything to bed, since he’s not fond of clothing yet, the creases it leaves when he sleeps wrong are too rough on his tender new skin - and though while he was mer that wasn’t a problem, his human skin is thinner and the night sea breeze is _not_ warm. Beside and beneath him, Poe stirs and groans.

“Finn,” he croaks, and Finn realizes that Poe sounds thirsty and that Finn _is_ thirsty. This is not a problem which comes up underwater; the merfolk don’t need fresh water at all. But humans do. It’s not a crisis _yet_ , but - well. They’ll need to find water soon. Finn pushes himself into a sitting position and strokes a hand through Poe’s salt-crusted hair.

“Hey,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I watched my ship’s crew being slaughtered, got tossed overboard and almost drowned, and then got a nasty sunburn, on top of having lost the Sword,” Poe sighs, shoving himself up to sit beside Finn. “And like my absolutely wonderful beloved pulled off a godsdamned _miracle_ to save my life again.”

Finn shrugs. “Saved mine too,” he points out.

“Yeah, no, still going to be in awe of you,” Poe says, and brushes a gentle kiss against Finn’s dry lips. “How did you do that?”

“I just - needed to have a tail again,” Finn says slowly. “And so I did. It hurt, but it was worth it.”

Poe shakes his head, nestling more comfortably against Finn’s side. “Still think you’re terrifyingly wonderful,” he says. “Any idea where we are?”

“Sadly, no,” Finn sighs. “I didn’t recognize the shoreline - it was just the closest bit of land. And I don’t know if there’s a stream nearby, or even people.”

“Hmm,” Poe says thoughtfully. “Well. Let me think. We left Yavin yesterday morning, headed out far enough that no one on shore could see which way we went, and then turned up towards the capital. The shore to the port side would have all been Alderaan; I can list off the duchies if you want me to, but none of them are desert, so I’m pretty sure we went off the _starboard_ side. In which case I regret to inform you that this is probably Jakku.”

“...I don’t know anything about Jakku,” Finn says.

“It’s a desert,” Poe sighs. “Which I suspect means it’s essentially hell on earth for a merperson.”

“Ah,” says Finn.

“Also, it’s very sparsely populated. If we’re lucky, we’ve ended up somewhere near Niima, which is the only port city in the whole country. If we’re not…”

“Then I’ll change my legs back to a tail and swim till we see something,” Finn says. “We’ve _got_ options. Don’t panic.”

Poe kisses him again. “You are - I have not got _words_ for how wonderful you are,” he murmurs.

“Not so bad yourself,” Finn says, smiling up at the stars. “So. We know where we are, and what we need to do in the morning. Next question: who the hell was that and how did he know we had the Sword?”

“Two _very_ good questions, and I have a third: how did he find us?” Poe replies grimly. “But - well. I’ve never _met_ the man they call the Pirate Lord, but the asshole who was in charge of that bunch matched his description pretty well. He calls himself Kylo Ren, I believe, and he’s been a scourge on shipping for almost a decade now. Claims to have magical powers, too, which - if true - would explain him knowing where to find us, and possibly knowing that we had the Sword in the first place.”

“But why would he _want_ it?” Finn asks, baffled. “It’s supposed to light up for the rightful heir, right? And it did not light up. I would have noticed that.”

“It _distinctly_ did not light up,” Poe agrees. He’s shivering, and Finn shuffles around until his back is against a rock - it’s still warm from the long summer day - and tugs Poe into his lap, wrapping his arms around him. Poe snuggles against him with a long sigh of contentment. “Damn, you’re the _best_. The only thing I can think of, is he’s hoping he can show up with the Sword and _claim_ it lit up for him, and take the throne. Or something.”

“Surely the queen won’t be taken in?” Finn asks curiously. Poe shrugs.

“I don’t think she would be, but - well. Da was worried about a conspiracy, remember?”

“Hence the decoy caravan,” Finn agrees.

“Right. Well, if Kylo Ren is aligned with the conspirators, and they know he’s coming, they could put pressure on the queen to accept him. She’s not an absolute monarch - or, at least, if _enough_ of her court wants her to do something, _not_ doing it might end badly. Alderaan’s seen coups before.”

“Ugh,” Finn says wearily. “What a mess.”

“You can say that again, dear heart,” Poe sighs. “Well, we’ll do what we can. Which, for now, probably means sitting watches so we can both get some sleep. No sense wandering around the desert in the dark, after all.”

“That’s sensible,” Finn agrees. “I’m doing alright - you sleep.”

“You sure?” Poe checks. “You swam all day; I was just dead weight.”

“I need less sleep,” Finn assures him. “I’ll wake you when I get tired.”

Poe nods and nestles down in Finn’s arms, falls asleep in scant minutes. Finn sits there watching the stars and listening to the soft, incomprehensible sounds of the desert behind him, the murmur of the waves on the beach, and thinks about finding water and a port city and safety.

He wakes Poe around midnight, when his eyelids get too heavy to keep open, and curls up with his head in Poe’s lap, and is asleep in moments, Poe’s fingers scratching gently and soothingly through his short hair. He wakes with the rising sun, sits up to kiss Poe good morning - wincing at the dryness of his mouth - and pauses, staring up at the dunes behind them.

There is someone up there. They are not alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Rey sees the strange men come ashore, from her perch on top of a nearby dune. The darker man heaves his unconscious companion up onto the sand, then hauls himself out, revealing a beautiful deep purple tail. Rey edges closer, fascinated: she’s never even _imagined_ there could be people with fish’s tails. The fish-tailed man pauses in the shallow water, braces himself, every muscle on his back straining - Rey admires the view, a little absently - and then makes a harsh, horrid noise of pain, and his tail _wavers_ , shrinks, becomes two perfectly human legs. The dark man lies in the shallows panting for a few moments, then crawls awkwardly up the beach to his companion, hauls the other man up above the tideline, and collapses atop him. They both lie still.

Rey isn’t quite sure what to do. She _could_ approach them, but - there are two of them, and the darker man is clearly very strong and has some unknown magic. He could be dangerous. And she doesn’t know anything about them. On the other hand, she knows there isn’t any water on this stretch of coastline, and if she leaves them here, naked or near-naked as they are, the midday sun will likely kill them. They’re much too far from Niima to make it there without clothing, shoes, or a guide. It’s not in Rey to leave anyone to die of thirst in Jakku’s unrelenting sun.

So that’s a dilemma.

Well, the dark one can apparently turn his legs into a tail. Maybe in the morning he’ll transform again and they’ll leave - or maybe even during the night. They might just be pausing for a little while. Okay, Rey’s pretty sure that’s _not_ what’s happening, but it _could_ be. So maybe she should just come back in the morning. There’s nothing particularly dangerous around her except her - well, and the desert sun - and they should be alright for a night. And in the morning she can come back with water and clothing and see if they still need help. That seems fair.

She retreats to her cave and dithers for a while, but she’s got a couple of spare overcloaks and enough scraps of cloth to make wrapped shoes, at any rate, and her cave has that most precious of things, a tiny seep-spring, so she can take full waterskins with her and not be leaving herself short of water. And maybe they’ll be gone by the time she gets back, and she’ll have been carrying a bundle of cloth around for no reason, but -

Eh. She can’t leave anyone to die. She can _kill_ , if she needs to - has before - but she can’t just let someone die without trying to help. It’s not a useful trait, here in the badlands, but it’s hers. Even Plutt’s cruelty can’t beat it out of her.

She heads out in the cold hour before dawn, carrying two overcloaks and three full waterskins and her ever-present quarterstaff, and finds herself a place on a dune above the strangers as the sun begins to rise. The dark one is sleeping in his companion’s lap, which is sort of oddly sweet. She watches while he stirs and wakes, sits up to kiss his companion - oh, that’s interesting - and then, to her surprise, he spots her. He must have _very_ good eyes.

She doesn’t want to approach them yet - no telling if they’re dangerous, after all - but she unslings one of the waterskins and tosses it down the dune. It rolls to a rest a little ways away from them, and the paler one reaches out and takes it, opens it and sniffs the contents carefully, then takes a single careful mouthful and hands it to his companion. Rey approves of his caution. The darker one drinks, too, and sighs in clear relief. Rey waits to see what they’ll do next.

The paler one - the one wearing pants - hauls himself to his feet, steadying himself on his companion’s shoulder, and bows to Rey. “We thank you,” he calls up to her. “Will you come down? We swear to do you no harm.”

Rey considers for a moment, then skips lightly down until she’s at the base of the dune, close enough to talk but far enough away that if either of them moves towards her she can escape or defend herself easily. The paler man bows again.

“My name is Poe Dameron, heir to the Dameron duchy,” he says politely. He’s got an accent Rey hasn’t heard before, but his voice is very nice. She likes it. And he’s telling the truth, which is interesting. (Rey can always tell when people are telling the truth. It’s a useful skill, one that’s saved her life a few times.) “And this is my handfasted beloved, Finn of the Sea. We are _very_ grateful for your help.”

“I’m Rey,” Rey says shortly. She isn’t used to people who use so many words all at one time. Words are like water in the desert: hoarded carefully and used sparingly.

“Pleased to meet you,” Poe says, smiling. He has a nice smile. That doesn’t mean _he’s_ nice - Rey has met men with nice smiles that hid monstrous cruelty before - but she must admit it’s a very pretty expression. Probably prettier when he isn’t sunburnt all to hell.

“Does he talk?” she asks, gesturing towards Finn of the Sea. It’s an honest question - for all she knows, fish-tailed folk have no voices. _Fish_ don’t talk, after all.

“I talk,” Finn says, smiling. It’s a _very_ pretty smile. Nice voice, too, warm and pleasant to listen to. “But Poe is better at talking than I am, so I figured I’d let him take the lead.”

Rey nods. That’s sensible.

“I hate to impose,” Poe says, “but we really need to get to Niima. Can you help us?”

“Help’s not free in the desert,” Rey says, which is plain truth. She’s already given these people water, and she’s probably going to give them the overcloaks in her pack, but just _giving_ things away is a good way to die.

Poe sinks gracefully to his knees in the damp sand, which is possibly the most surprising thing he could have done. “Gracious lady,” he says, “if you can get us to Niima and onto a ship to Alderaan, I will give you anything it is in my power to give, up to and including my place as heir to the duchy of Yavin.” His words are utter truth, and Rey stares at him in disbelief.

“Why is it so important to you to get to Alderaan?” she asks at last. “And how _did_ you end up here, anyhow? This isn’t one of the usual places for salvage to wash ashore.”

Poe grimaces. “Our ship was carrying a particularly valuable cargo,” he says slowly, “and was boarded and taken by the Pirate Lord, Kylo Ren, who ordered us tossed overboard. We need to stop him from reaching Alderaan.”

Rey startles like she’s been struck. “Kylo Ren?” she demands. “I owe that black-hearted bastard a debt or two. If it will be a blow against _him_ , you need pay me nothing more. I would walk barefoot across the desert for the chance to do a harm to Kylo Ren.” She unslings her pack and tosses the overcloaks to them, then the bundles of cloth to wrap their feet. “Dress and follow me. I’ll get you to Niima and find you a ship.”

The two men shrug into the overcloaks, Finn wincing as the cloth touches his bare shoulders. Rey digs a little jar out of her pocket and tosses it to him, impressed by his reflexes as he snatches it out of the air. “Aloe,” she says. “Smear it where you’re burnt.” Finn does, sighing in relief as the pain subsides, then very carefully dabs it onto Poe’s reddened face and chest. Rey, watching, can’t help wondering what it might be like to have someone touch _her_ that gently and adoringly. It looks nice.

They’re clumsy wrapping their feet, but Rey doesn’t move to help. She’s not going to get close enough for them to touch her if she can help it. Sure, they seem nice, and neither one has spoken an untruth - the closest they’ve gotten is Poe carefully not saying what the ‘valuable cargo’ they were carrying is - but Rey has not lived fifteen years in Jakku’s desert by being overly trusting. She’s seen where that gets you. It gets you _dead_. “This way,” she says when they’re done, and leads them down the coast.

Finn doesn’t walk very well, she learns; he stumbles, like his legs don’t work quite right. But then, if he usually has a tail, that makes sense. They’ll be skirting the coastline for a while, and at last, when he stumbles again and nearly falls but for Poe’s arm around his waist, she says, “Do you want to swim alongside us instead?”

Finn startles. “You - saw that?” he asks.

Rey shrugs. Finn glances at Poe, and then, slowly, nods. “Worth it,” he says, and then, “Actually...if you two clung to a piece of driftwood, I could drag you along a _lot_ faster than you can walk. If you didn’t mind getting wet.”

Rey is _deeply_ dubious. She can’t swim, for starters. But Poe perks up like he’s been handed a priceless treasure, and they _are_ on a patch of shoreline where driftwood tends to wash up. There are some lovely big pieces that would float quite well. And Rey has rope, of course.

But she’d have to trust Poe, who’d be right next to her, and Finn, who’d be pulling them, not to - not to hurt her. Not to _kill_ her. It’d be easy, out in the ocean; just push her off the wood, and that’d be an end to it.

On the other hand, if Finn’s plan _worked_ , it’d get them to Niima even faster, and that would be one in the eye for Kylo Ren. And Rey would do a _lot_ if it would inconvenience Kylo Ren.

“Alright,” she says, and about ten minutes later she’s clinging to a huge piece of driftwood, Poe beside her, while Finn forges through the water ahead of them like a dolphin, towing the wood and its passengers along as though they weigh nothing. He looks _gleeful_ , actually, his huge tail gleaming in the sunlight as he swims.

Poe doesn’t look nearly as worried as Rey does, but then, that _is_ his handfasted beloved pulling them, and also he can probably swim. _Rey_ is clinging to the driftwood as hard as she can, because the sea is _very_ deep beneath her. Also there are probably sharks which would _love_ to have a tasty bit of Rey for dinner. Why did she agree to this? This is bloody _insane_!

But it _is_ working. She watches the shore fly by in fascination, marveling as landmarks which take entire hours to reach on foot go past like shooting stars. At last she sees the bay of Niima, and leans forward to yank on the rope. Finn slows and surfaces like a seal, grinning back at them with surprisingly sharp white teeth.

“We’re here?” he asks.

“Right in there,” Rey replies, pointing. Finn nods and goes back under, and a few minutes later he is pushing the driftwood to shore on the beach beside the port city. Rey staggers out of the water, shivering; Poe hangs back to pull his lover up onto shore, since the tail _does_ make getting _out_ of the water harder. Finn braces himself and shivers through another transformation. Rey winces. Those look like they _hurt_.

“You know,” Finn says, shrugging into an overcloak as Poe kneels down to wrap his feet, “I actually think that’s getting easier with practice. Changing, I mean. Hurts less every time.”

“I’m glad,” Poe says, smiling up at him. Rey watches their faces, the way they practically glow with love when they look at each other, and can’t help feeling just a tiny bit jealous. No one, so far as she can recall, has ever looked at _her_ like that.

But it is a brief moment, and then Poe stands and says, “So, now we need a ship.”

“There aren’t many,” Rey warns him. “Niima’s not a popular port. Nothing to sell.”

“Could sell sand,” Poe says, grinning. Rey can’t help giggling. But she sobers quickly.

“If you need to get to Alderaan _fast_ ,” she says, “then that’s the ship you need.” She points. The ship is lying at anchor, bobbing gently in the waves: a little sloop, clean-lined beneath the grime of long seasons unattended. “She’s the fastest thing in Niima Bay.”

“Whose is she?” Poe asks.

Rey grins, showing all her teeth. “Mine,” she says. “Technically.”

“...Technically?” Poe asks, sounding dubious.

“She was found abandoned fifteen years ago. I was the only living thing aboard. She’s mine. But Plutt’s been keeping her, and I’ve never had someone to help me sail her. Can you sail?”

“I can,” Poe says, smiling broadly. “And Finn learns fast.”

“Good,” says Rey. “He’ll need to.”


	4. Chapter 4

Poe has never stolen a ship before - and regardless of Rey’s explanation, he’s reasonably sure this ‘Plutt’ person _would_ see it as stealing - but there’s a first time for everything, and he just plain doesn’t have time to haggle with anyone, even if he had money to haggle _with_. And very few people are going to agree to run a tab for a half-naked, salt-crusted man who claims he’s the heir to the Dameron duchy. So stealing a ship it is. He rows them out to the little sloop in the dinghy which apparently belongs to Rey and waits on the seaward side of the ship while she swarms up its side and drops a ladder down, then helps Finn up, ties the dinghy to the ship’s buoy and goes up the ladder himself. The ship is not in the best condition he’s ever seen, but the ropes aren’t rotting and the deck is solid, so he’ll take it. Finn helps haul the sails out of their locker. Rey eyes the shoreline - it’s midmorning, people are bustling around - and says, “Just the jib to get us out of the bay.”

It’s a truly well-designed ship, somewhat to Poe’s surprise, and the jib goes on easy, and Rey cuts the buoy line while Poe mans the wheel and the sail fills and okay, here they go. They’re close to the bay’s entrance, for a blessing, and while Poe can see a commotion on shore that might well mean they’re going to have pursuers soon, the little sloop skims over the waves as easily as he could desire, and they are out around the point before anyone else can even get to their ships.

Getting the mainsail up while moving is...interesting, but they manage. Poe leaves Finn at the wheel, since he can lean against it and keep from straining his legs, and Poe takes care of the sheets while Rey scampers about in the ratlines, making sure everything is shipshape. And then Poe takes over at the wheel while Finn sits with his back to the mast and marvels at everything, and Rey stands at the railing and smiles into the wind, fierce and beautiful and proud.

“She’s a sweet little ship!” Poe calls to Rey, marveling at the easy way the ship responds to his hands. “What’s her name?”

“The _Falcon_ ,” Rey calls back, a grin on her face that turns her from pretty to downright beautiful.

“She flies like one,” Poe agrees, and Rey laughs in delight.

“So this is why you like sailing so much,” Finn says thoughtfully. “The big ship wasn’t much fun, but this -” he yelps in surprise as a wave flings foam across the deck, cold water spattering Poe and making Rey laugh again - “this is wonderful!”

“Isn’t it?” Poe says, reveling in the wind in his hair and the feel of the deck beneath his feet. “Sometimes I think I’d rather be sailing than almost anything else in the world.” He grins wider. “Except spending time with you, of course - that always comes first.”

Rey makes an exaggerated gagging sound, and Poe laughs at her. Finn chuckles, too.

“Teach me, then,” he says. “Then we can spent time together _while_ sailing. And if you capsize again, I’ll be there to save you.”

Poe sighs. “I’m never going to live that down,” he says mournfully, and then beckons Finn closer. Finn stands, staggering a little on the swaying deck, and comes over to nestle against Poe’s side. Poe wraps one arm around his beloved’s waist. “Alright, so, you were steering pretty well earlier, so let’s talk about ropes,” he says cheerfully. “That one Rey’s looking after is the mainsheet…”

*

It’s late evening, and they’ve been sailing all day, Poe and Rey taking shifts on the sheets and Finn getting quite good at steering, when Finn with his sharp eyes peers off to the north and calls forward, “Is that a storm?”

Rey goes scampering up to the tiny crow’s nest and leans out, shading her eyes with one hand. After a moment she comes sliding down the lines again, eyes wide. “Storm,” she confirms grimly. “Big one, too.” She glances at Poe. “I’ve never actually been at sea during one. We can put out the sea anchor or we can try to run before it, but I honestly don’t know which would be better.”

Poe eyes the flapping windgauge at the head of the mast. “We’re farther north than I usually venture,” he says slowly. “I don’t know what the chance of submerged rocks is around here.”

“I do,” Finn says, surprising Poe and Rey both. “I’ve swum through this area many times. It’s very deep until maybe a mile out from shore.”

Poe kisses his beloved’s cheek. “Now _that’s_ useful to know,” he says. “In that case, if you think she can handle it, I’d say run before the storm, Rey. But let’s take down the jib and reef the mainsail as small as it’ll go.”

Rey nods, and they leave Finn to tend the wheel while the two of them do battle with whipping ropes and flailing sail-canvas. The first hard winds of the storm are already reaching them, and reefing the mainsail is not an experience Poe cares to have again; he wrenches his shoulder badly enough that he half wonders if he’s dislocated it, and Rey gets slapped across the face by a rope-end that raises a truly nasty welt. Once the jib is stowed and the mainsail is reefed, they join Finn at the wheel, and Poe ties them all together and ropes them to the railing for safety. “If we capsize, Finn, shift and cut us free,” he says, and Finn hugs Poe hard and nods.

“Let’s not capsize,” he says. “I’m going to start disliking sailing, if I have to rescue you from every boat we ever use.”

“Can’t blame you,” Poe admits, and then the leading edge of the storm hits. The _Falcon_ heels sharply, ropes snapping in the wind, and Poe braces himself as Rey yelps in surprise and Finn swears in what must be the merfolk tongue. Poe peers up into the steadily darkening sky and grimaces. There’s lightning in the storm.

As the sun sets, the storm strengthens, and it takes Poe and Rey both to handle the wheel, while Finn braces his back and holds the mainsheet steady - when Rey tried, it nearly lifted her off her feet. The _Falcon_ scuds along over the waves, moving faster than Poe has _ever_ dared sail before, and there’s an odd exhilaration to it, beneath the shivering terror.

The waves are growing tower with each passing minute, and the _Falcon_ is already dwarfed by them, rising up each face like she’s climbing a mountain and plummeting down the other side, the screams of her crew caught by the whipping winds and whirled away. Poe dares a glance at Finn and sees that his lover has an expression of mingled terror and determination plastered on his beautiful face; at Rey, and sees that her teeth are set in a grin of fear and fury at the storm.

The _Falcon_ is creaking ominously, and Poe doesn’t want to think about what might happen if one of the monstrous waves happens to break and tumble down onto the little ship; _Finn_ might be able to survive, diving deep beneath the waves, but Poe and Rey aren’t going to be able to do the same.

All at once there’s a terrible cracking sound, the worst sound Poe has ever heard, and a finger of lightning stabs down out of the sky to hit the tip of the mast dead on. For a moment, the entire ship is illuminated by blinding white light; and then, with a dreadful slow majesty, the mast splits almost in two, the larger half - and the mainsail - is blown sideways, straining at the stays that still hold it to the ship. The mainsheet hisses from Finn’s hands, and Finn yelps loud enough to be heard even over the storm. The _Falcon_ heels again, harder, and Poe finds he is swearing in language that would make his father blush. He doesn’t have a _knife_ -

Rey draws a blade from somewhere under her cloak and leaps forward, held to the deck only by the line tying them together, to slice at the ropes holding the sail to the ship. There are four of them, and as Rey slices them the cut ends begin to flail like whips. Poe ducks, pulling Finn down to the deck, as one of the cut ropes goes hissing over their heads - and then Rey’s knife saws through the very last rope and the sail and mast go whipping off into the distance, swallowed instantly by the storm.

Which leaves the _Falcon_ without any sails, of course.

Rey joins Poe and Finn in their huddle, eyes wide. “Now what?” she yells over the roaring wind.

“Pray,” Poe hollers back, and they cling to each other as the storm takes them wherever it will.

*

The storm blows itself out not long after they lose the mast, and Poe and Rey manage to rig the jib to the remaining stub of the mast, though Poe suspects their work won’t hold through another serious blow. They limp along for the rest of the night, Rey on the foredeck peering up at the stars and calling directions to Finn at the wheel while Poe watches over the juryrigged jib like a mother cat with one kitten. It’s not the most pleasant night he’s ever had, but they’re all alive and not swept overboard, so he’ll take it.

As the sun rises the next morning, Rey leans precariously forward, squinting against the glare, and calls, “Land ho!”

Finn, swaying a little, leans over the rail to see better, and nods. “Is that Alderaan?”

“Should be,” Poe says, voice full of relief. “And if Rey’s read the stars aright, we should be near the capital, too.” He looks down at his bedraggled cape and grimaces. “Of course, the next trick is getting an audience with the queen - I don’t precisely look like a duke’s son at the moment.”

Rey wrinkles her nose. “At least we mostly smell like saltwater,” she says, shrugging. “Could be worse.”

Poe grins at her. “Oh, it could _easily_ be worse. We’ll just have to be a bit creative. Hell, my father’s men might have actually arrived overland, depending on how hard they pushed, and if they’re there, they’ll know me.”

“True,” Finn says cheerfully. “Alright, how do we - um - land the ship?”

Rey giggles. “We don’t,” she says. “There’ll be a dock, and we’ll tie up next to it. How are you at knots?”

“Quite good, thank you,” Finn says with great dignity.

“Alright,” Rey says, and shows Finn a cleat-knot. “That’s what we’ll be using to tie the boat to the dock. Can you get the bow while I get the stern?”

Finn practices the knot a couple of times, then nods. “Yes, I can.”

“Good,” Rey says, grinning. “That makes it easier.”

Alderaan grows clearer and closer as the day wears on towards noon, the green hills gleaming in the sun. Finn is standing in the bow, leaning forward eagerly and occasionally laughing at the dolphins playing in the bow wave. As they grow near enough to make out the harbor at the mouth of the great river, with the capital upon its banks, Finn leans forward further, shading his eyes, then turns with a worried expression on his face.

“There’s a big black ship in the harbor,” he shouts over the whistle of the wind. “It looks like the pirates!”

Rey swears vehemently. Poe winces.

“We’re maybe half an hour out!” he yells back. “Tell me if it looks like there’s any - problems on shore!”

Finn nods and turns back to his vigil. Poe and Rey glance at each other in worry. If the pirate ship is moored - what does that mean?

Are they too late?

*

There are no workers on the docks, which worries Poe. There should be _dozens_ of people, loading and unloading ships, bargaining for goods and services, gawking at the passers-by, attempting to pick pockets...but the docks are still and silent as the grave. Poe steers the _Falcon_ into a slip as near the harbor entrance as he can find, hoping desperately that as they’re well out of the sightline of the black ship, none of the pirates will have spotted them. Finn and Rey leap down to the dock, tying the _Falcon_ up swiftly - Poe is immensely pleased by this evidence that Finn’s strength is returning - and then Rey swings back aboard to help Poe furl the sails as quickly as possible. They leave the ship less tidy than Poe would usually prefer, but if all goes well they can always come back and fix that - and if all _doesn’t_ go well, then the tidiness of the _Falcon_ is going to be the last thing on their minds.

As they sneak along the docks, pressed close to the buildings to stay out of sight of any watchers, Poe starts to hear a commotion approaching: trumpets and drums, and the sound of many marching feet. Rey signals for Poe and Finn to stay still, and goes swarming up the side of a house as agile as any cat, stares for a moment, and then slides back down looking stunned.

“The _Queen_ is coming,” she says in a hoarse whisper. “At least, I assume that’s who the lady in the crown is.”

“Fuck,” Poe says, wincing. “Come on, we have to get closer, _fast_.”

They manage, just barely, to reach the cover of an alleyway near the black ship’s mooring just before the Queen’s procession gains the docks. Finn is leaning heavily on Poe’s shoulder, and none of them is exactly in top condition, not after two days with minimal food and water, out on the sea in the full sun. Poe’s not sure he could hold his own right now, if it comes to a fight, even if he had a weapon. Which he doesn’t. Well, he has a baulk of wood, and Rey has a quarterstaff, and Finn has picked up a double handful of fist-sized rocks, but none of that is going to be enough against any opponent with a real sword or even a good-sized dagger.

“What’s going on?” Rey hisses.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Poe admits, peering down towards the docks. The pirates are lining the rails of the black ship, and at the head of the lowered gangplank stands the tall pirate who ordered Poe and Finn flung overboard - Kylo Ren himself. He has, Poe sees, eyes narrowing with fury, the Sword’s hilt in his unworthy hands, its tip digging deep into the boards between his feet.

Beside Poe, Rey hisses softly, sounding rather like an angry cat. Poe glances over at her, to see that her eyes are fixed on the Sword. “It’s not _his_ ,” she says furiously, only just remembering to keep her voice down. “It’s _not_.”

“If it was his, it’d be lighting up like the sun,” Poe says, nodding. “That’s how we knew it wasn’t Finn’s or mine, either.”

“Thank goodness,” Finn adds. “I’d make a _dreadful_ king of human folk.”

“Allow me to beg to differ, dearest,” Poe says, grinning, and then they all have to press back further into the shadows of the alley as the Queen’s procession comes to a clattering, beautifully rehearsed halt just in front of the alley’s mouth. The Queen herself is in the front row of the procession, gleaming in white and gold, and her face is set in a grim expression unlike any Poe’s ever seen her wear before. He knows the Queen best as a sort of benevolent aunt, always smiling and gentle, not this stern unyielding monarch.

There is a long, tense pause. And then Kylo Ren strides down the gangplank and up the cobbled street, Sword dangling from his fist, a handful of pirates trailing him eagerly, to loom over the Queen. “Your Majesty,” he sneers.

“Kylo Ren,” the Queen says flatly. “You impose upon Our time and hospitality, with Our Sword in your hand.”

“It is _my_ Sword,” Kylo Ren snaps, “and as I hold it, and you do not, I claim my rightful throne!”

Poe sees the Queen open her mouth to say something - doubtless something scathing, because Poe has rarely heard a more arrogant and high-handed demand - but before the Queen can speak, Rey makes a terrible, furious sound and _springs_ out of the alley to snatch the Sword from Kylo Ren’s hand.

It lights up like the sun at noon.


	5. Chapter 5

There is a brief, startled pause while everyone - courtiers, pirates, and Poe and Finn alike - stares at Rey and the blindingly bright Sword in her hands. And then Kylo Ren reaches out as if to snatch it back from Rey, and Rey snarls, fierce and furious, and brings the Sword up in the most perfect lunge Poe has ever had the pleasure to see. The Sword takes Kylo Ren squarely through the heart, and he crumples soundlessly to the cobbled street, face twisted in shock and dismay.

The Queen must surely be just as astonished at the turn of affairs as Poe and Finn are, but she recovers fast - Poe knows she was a warleader in her youth, but it is one thing to know that and another to _see_ it. “Archers!” she snaps, loud enough to echo down the street, and from the crowd of courtiers behind her step nearly fifty archers, raising their bows in unison. “Fire!”

At least half of the pirates on the street and lining the decks of their ship fall in the first volley; the screams of the wounded make Poe wince and Finn look ill. The Queen doesn’t even flinch. “Guards!” she snaps, and the rest of the crowd of people Poe had _thought_ were courtiers throw back their cloaks to reveal very well-used-looking swords and advance down the street, herding the pirates down towards their ship.

The Queen turns, at last, to look at Rey. “Welcome,” she says, quietly, “Chosen of Alderaan’s Sword.”

“My name is Rey,” Rey says. She’s holding the Sword a little more awkwardly now, as though astonished by her own actions. Poe tugs Finn up next to him and steps out of the alley, bowing deeply to the Queen.

“...Young Dameron?” Queen Leia asks, startled. “What on earth -?”

“It’s rather a long story, my Queen,” Poe says ruefully. “May I present to you my handfasted consort and finder of the Sword, Finn of the Sea?”

“Be welcome, Finn of the Sea,” Queen Leia says formally. “Young Dameron, I see you have _quite_ a story for me, you and your companions. Come; let us find you food and clothing, and then you and your consort and my heir can tell me what _exactly_ is going on.”

“With greatest pleasure, Your Majesty,” Poe says, grinning. “It is _quite_ the tale.”

*

“That _is_ quite the tale,” Queen Leia says some hours later, leaning back in her chair. “And did it come from any person less trustworthy than the son of one of my oldest friends - or with any proof less compelling than the Sword returned at last - I should call it a fairy tale in truth. But such a teller, and such proof, demand belief.” She nods regally to Finn. “You have my utmost thanks, Finn of the Sea, for bringing the Sword again to land, and for twice preserving the life of young lord Dameron.”

“No thanks are needed, Your Majesty,” Finn says. His hand is tightly clasped around Poe’s, and Poe squeezes gently in reassurance.

“Nevertheless, you and young lord Dameron have done Alderaan an immense service,” Queen Leia says. “It will be my pleasure, therefore, to host your wedding, when your year’s handfasting is over.”

Poe’s eyes go wide. A noble wedding is _not_ a small undertaking, and he and his parents _were_ admittedly going to have to spend far too much time and money for his, especially since Finn - wonderful as he is - brings no dowry to the match save his own wonderful self; but to have the Queen herself offer to finance and arrange the whole thing -

“Thank you, my Queen,” he says, standing and bowing. “We are honored.”

“It is the least I can do,” Queen Leia replies, smiling, and then turns to Rey. “So. I have heard the tale of how you saved these young men’s lives and how you came to claim the Sword. Tell me, of your courtesy, of your early life. It is very unusual for one not of Alderaan to wake the Sword.”

Rey trails a finger over the hilt of the Sword, which is lying across her lap in a sheath that somewhat dulls the brightness of its glow. “I was found in the _Falcon_ when I was very young,” she says at last. Queen Leia goes very still.

“The _Falcon_?” she asks.

“My ship,” Rey says, looking up to meet the Queen’s eyes. Leia gasps.

“The _Falcon_ , and a child so young -” she stands and takes Rey’s hands in hers, staring down into Rey’s eyes in wonder. “My husband’s ship was called the _Falcon_ , and she was the fastest vessel on the seas,” she says quietly. “Fifteen years ago, he and my son and my brother and my little niece went sailing, and none of them returned; we never found any sign of what could have befallen them.” She takes a deep breath. “My niece’s name was Reyna Skywalker, and she called me Auntie Lei.”

Rey’s jaw drops.

“I thought I dreamt you,” she says softly. “I thought - you used to sing to me.” Her voice breaks. “ _Lullaby and goodnight, in the skies stars are bright -_ ”

“ _I’ll protect you from harm, and you’ll wake in my arms,_ ” Queen Leia whispers. Rey stands, the Sword clattering to the floor at her feet, and flings herself into her auntie’s arms.

*

“Well,” Poe says, much later, flopping back on the enormous bed in the suite they’ve been given. “It’s been...a day.”

Finn laughs and collapses next to Poe, curling up to put his head on Poe’s shoulder and sling an arm and a leg over Poe’s torso, pinning him warmly to the bed. “Yeah, it has,” he agrees. 

“Have I mentioned recently how marvelous you are?” Poe asks. “I mean - shit, I don’t think I even said how _incredibly amazing_ it was to watch you go mer again.”

“Well, it was that or drown,” Finn points out wryly. “And really, it’d be sort of embarrassing for a merman to die by drowning.”

“Still,” Poe says, and cranes his head so he can kiss Finn. Finn apparently approves, because he shifts around until he’s sprawled out on top of Poe, heavy and warm and _wonderful_ , and kisses back hungrily. Poe runs one hand over Finn’s short-cropped hair and reaches down with the other to _very gently_ grope Finn’s marvelous ass, and laughs when Finn squeaks.

“Still tender,” Finn says, and pulls Poe’s hand away, pinning it gently to the pillow beside Poe’s head. “Be good.”

Poe’s mouth goes dry. “I will,” he promises, and laces his fingers together above his head, hanging on hard. Finn chuckles and kisses him again.

“Next time you can grope me to your heart’s content,” he promises, and rolls off to one side, rucking Poe’s tunic up to leave his chest and stomach bare and tugging at his breeches until Poe can wriggle the rest of the way out of them and kick them away. Finn props himself up on an elbow and just _looks_ at Poe, eyes dark and hungry. Poe can’t help shivering under that steady gaze.

“Salt and stone, you’re beautiful,” Finn says at last, and runs a warm hand down Poe’s chest. Poe arches into it with a moan.

“I’m _yours_ ,” he says hoarsely, and Finn makes a soft, desperate noise and shivers, then leans over to kiss Poe thoroughly. Poe is gasping by the time Finn leans away again, his hands clenched so hard on each other that his knuckles ache.

“Next time,” Finn says, voice rough, “I am going to fuck you through this lovely bed.”

“Yes _please_ ,” Poe gasps as Finn rolls away just long enough to strip off his own clothing. Then Finn is atop him again, heavy and warm and delightful, hands tangling in Poe’s hair to hold him still so Finn can kiss him breathless. “Next time?” Poe asks after a long, wonderful interlude. “Not this time?”

“Takes too long,” Finn says hoarsely, and reaches over to grab a bottle of oil off the bedside table - bless whoever set up this room - and spill a dollop into his palm, then reaches down between them to wrap a slippery hand too-briefly around Poe’s cock. Poe whines, pushing up into Finn’s grip, but Finn kisses him silent and reaches further down to oil himself, then slides his cock gently between Poe’s thighs and settles more firmly atop Poe, warm and heavy.

Poe clutches his hands together harder and presses his legs together and arches up against Finn with a moan that comes from deep in his chest, and Finn kisses the sound from his lips. They move together slowly at first, until they find a rhythm that works, and then Finn groans and Poe whimpers and they are moving faster, faster, until finally Poe throws back his head and cries out in pleasure, and Finn buries his face in the crook of Poe’s neck and shudders hard as he comes in his own turn.

They lie there for a while, panting, and then Poe says faintly. “You know, if you get that much better at this every time we have sex, eventually I am going to die of overwhelming pleasure.”

Finn chuckles, the sound reverberating through Poe’s bones. “I won’t let you,” he says, voice so full of affection that Poe shivers with it. “I mean, I’ve saved your life twice now - it’s practically a habit.”

“It’s a good habit,” Poe agrees, prying his fingers open and shaking his hands out a little, then cupping them around Finn’s face and pulling Finn gently down for another long kiss. “I love you.”

Finn shivers, eyes falling shut. “Salt and stone. I love you, too.”

“Good,” Poe says, and grins against Finn’s mouth. “Since the Queen herself is paying for our wedding.”

Finn bursts into delighted laughter, and Poe joins him, their merriment ringing through the room and echoing from the high stone walls.

*

“I do,” Finn says, his eyes shining. He is the most beautiful thing Poe has ever seen, bar none.

“I do,” Poe says, and leans forward, his lips meeting Finn’s in a soft, chaste kiss. The cheer that rises from the watching crowds is quite flattering, really, and Poe turns to face them, hand clasped firmly in Finn’s, smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. His parents are in the front row of the crowd, clapping enthusiastically, with Rey beside them laughing for glee. Queen Leia steps forward to the edge of the dais and puts her hands on Poe and Finn’s shoulders.

“I give you Poe Dameron and his consort, Finn of the Sea!” she cries, and the cheers redouble. Finn glances over at Poe and his grin, impossibly, widens.

“We’re married,” he says, under the roar of the crowd.

“Yes,” Poe agrees, grinning back.

Finn pulls Poe in for another kiss, not minding the cheering crowd or the laughing Queen, and Poe wraps his arms around his husband and kisses back, pouring every bit of his love into it. He’s not sure how long they stand there, embracing and embraced, but he does know it’s Rey who finally, laughing, pulls them apart and herds them down the stairs to the waiting feast.

“Congratulations,” she tells them, grinning, and kisses Poe on the cheek, then turns to do the same to Finn. “I expect you to visit a _lot_ , you know,” she adds as she leads them to their seats. “This princessing business isn’t easy, and I miss my friends.”

“I’ll be taking up my father’s proxy at court,” Poe tells her. “We’ll be here three or four months out of the year, probably.”

“You can help Poe teach me to sail,” Finn offers. “I’ve...mostly gotten the hang of it, but…”

Rey giggles. “After your honeymoon,” she says. “Where are you going, anyway?”

Poe laughs. “Well, given our apparently luck with sailing holidays...your aunt has granted us the use of a small hunting lodge, well inland.” He winks at Finn. “The scenery’s supposed to be marvelous.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Finn replies, looking Poe up and down and winking back. Poe can feel himself blushing, and Rey laughs harder.

Blush or no, Poe doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. He has Finn at his side and his family around him, his Queen and her heir and the kingdom all rejoicing -

“You know,” he says to Finn, thoughtfully, “I think we might be going to live happily ever after.”

“Yes,” Finn says simply, and seals the promise with a long, slow kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This will update daily until finished.
> 
> I am, as ever, imaginarygolux on tumblr.


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